


solar crown

by GStK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: your eyes have sunspots, baby. stop staring.
Relationships: Belial/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	solar crown

**Author's Note:**

> This work features trans character physicality. Stay safe!

The cuffs click as they seal his hands behind his back.

Belial gives him a shove onto his front. He detects the whistle of the primal’s voice behind him, the shine of the golden key as he spins it on its ring. He turns his head just in time to see Belial pocket it.

“ _Nice body_ ,” says Belial, twisting around a barely-decipherable dialect. Lucilius’ eyes narrow coldly.

“Suffering your comments was not part of the deal.”

Belial laughs and then says something in a different tongue, the words of the skydwellers, but the intonation hints to precisely the same sentiment. He kicks out with his leg; Belial gives a little yelp when the heel connects.

“On with it,” Lucilius orders. Quickly, “Your counter-argument.”

“I’m getting my thoughts together. You took me apart with this offer of yours.” Belial spreads out over him, a knee hitched against the edge of the desk. The low light of the stars circling his room makes the crimson glow of Belial’s eyes sharp and hungry. Lucilius traces the map of the galaxy and the umbral histories, feigning a lack of interest.

Belial takes his chin in hand and grins. Lucilius says, bored, “The offer will be just as quickly rescinded if you do not comply.” Belial chuckles again and releases him, shoving a hand under his robes and into the complex lace of his petticoats.

“So your fellow Astrals,” Belial begins, “They’re not detecting the amount of electron neutrinos your model predicts. They’re saying your model’s wrong. You’re telling them that the neutrinos change themselves, even as soon as the sun pushes them out.” Lucilius curls his lip. Belial traces the line of skin between his thigh-highs and his shorts. He still has his hand shoved deep inside the mess of robes, like a gentleman with a particular lack of morals.

“And your counter?” he replies testily. The chain on the shackles are tight, and he shifts his wrists out from under him, bones digging into his back.

“Am I playing devil’s advocate and messing around with the Council? Or am I arguing for your side? Give me some parameters, Cil.”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Give me the key.” He tries to rise, but Belial hastily pushes him back.

“Cil! Relax!”

“Give. Me. The. Key.”

Belial has both hands against his shoulders-- then, only one, when he snatches the leg aimed at him out of the air. With fingers pressed firm around Lucilius’ ankle, Lucilius squirming in his grip, they rock awkwardly as his escape attempt is jettisoned out of the window. In response to his consternation, the stars start to spin. The swarm of black holes on the west wall become visible when the astral bodies drift behind them.

“If you want my opinion, all you have to do is ask,” Belial sighs eventually. He wears Lucilius out, left panting beneath him, wrists chafed and rough. “You’re so stubborn. But that’s what I love about you.”

Lucilius’ retort is frustrated when Belial grips the front of his robe and tugs. It’s the only warning he gives before the white fabric tears. Golden threads give way to lace beneath, and even that is ripped from him. He’s left with his black top and his shorts. Belial leans down and presses a kiss to the silk material, thumbing appreciatively at the open back of the shirt.

Belial says, “What I’m thinking,” taking Lucilius’ belt from its rungs with a delicate slowness, “is that you’re right. You usually are, Cil. But what value does being _right_ give you? They’re not going to use what you know in the future.”

“They can design machines to detect the changes,” he snaps back. Matters of mind come first before the irritation of what Belial’s just done. Yet, he will get everything that’s coming to him. He will get it all. “Ignorance is inexcusable when we have the capabilities within us. And if they consider this concept a _problem_ , then they must address it.”

“Maybe the problem they see is different than yours,” Belial suggests. When Lucilius is free of his belt, he removes his own. He steps out of his slacks, and he detaches the chains pinning his red cape to his shoulder.

“The sun is putting out less neutrinos than expected,” he says slowly, like Belial is stupid. He is not, but he is testing the limits of Lucilius’ patience. (As always.) “The electron neutrino and the quark form electrons. Electrons are fundamental to our experiments. Negative charges, ionisation --”

“They’ve been performing experiments just fine for hundreds of years. Do you think they want to go out of their way to change things?” Belial objects. Lucilius sighs heavily. Belial plucks his boots off.

“Then why would they have identified it in the first place?”

“Because curious minds aren’t always ambitious minds,” counters Belial. “The other Astrals aren’t like you, boss. Doing something is so much more difficult than just acknowledging it.”

Lucilius gnashes his teeth. His wrists strain. He spreads his legs when Belial settles into them, sending the man a sharp look when he pulls his shorts down and over his legs. Belial drums his fingers across twelve ribs masqueraded by the thinnest sheet of silk. “A world of thinkers dies. A world of doers thrives.”

“That’s what I mean. You’re part of two different worlds. So your concept of the neutrino changing forms isn’t even in the same ballpark.” Belial unties Lucilius’ shirt and pulls him out of it. He lays a kiss, too, to the myriad of scars across the flat grain of his chest. It’s slow, intimate, respectful. Worshipful. Still the mouth spews disgusting truths. “The Astrals just want you to keep your head down and tell them how smart they are for noticing something. I’d also love to have your head down on me, but in a different way --”

“Focus your thoughts for ten minutes, Belial.” Lucilius’ voice gives way to dark threat: “I will not hesitate to reduce you down to your component parts.”

“And I don’t think you can. Not like this.” Belial sets both of his elbows on Lucilius’ chest, knocking the wind out of him. He burdens Lucilius with his weight and grins savagely. “Those cuffs seal all your powers. And I’m just bigger than you. What are you going to do to me?”

The galaxy rumbles with the threat of a storm brewing in the Oort cloud. The walls threaten anger and destruction, the icy vacuum of space, but it’s just a projection. It’s just four walls defining Lucilius’ rarely-used bedroom. Belial has all but mounted him on his desk, and he’s being contrary.

He’s enjoying himself a great deal, too. He reaches a hand between his legs, not bothering to hide it. He even gives a little hiss of air between his teeth.

“The different proportions of each separate neutrino and its constituents,” Lucilius resumes angrily, “can aid to further research everywhere. Be it to learn the upper limits of our sky, or know to what magnitude we are larger than the most basic states of the universe. To not know these things would be our greatest folly.”

“I’m another Astral and I think your research is dumb,” Belial says simply. “I think you’re questioning the Creator. I think you’re a creepy little king who wants to fornicate with his beasts in the basement so I’m going to limit your library access --”

Lucilius slams his elbow loudly into the wood of the desk. It creaks beneath them. Belial runs a hand up and down his arm. “Is that what they are telling you?”

Belial shrugs. “A stupid beast like me doesn’t get told anything. Now, if you’re wondering what I hear… that’s neither here nor there. Convince me, Cil.” His smile comes back. “I’m another Astral and I don’t like you.”

That’s the rub. Lucilius doesn’t keep the company of the other Astrals. This debate had come up simply as a matter of course when they asked for his recent research. He’s been deep-diving at the quantum level, and an offhand remark about the levels of neutrinos from their solar companion started an argument he was not ready for. He’s been deep in thought -- fuming, Belial would say -- ever since he returned to his laboratory hours ago.

He was slicing open one of his most precious samples when Belial found him. Anger was guiding his hand when he needed precision, stillness. Here’s where the deal has come from, an extension of their normal, physical relationship: Belial debates him and gets to throw him around a little.

The cuffs are a metaphor. The pointed simplicity of Belial’s statements-as-Astral are not, and they’re grinding his gears.

“Stewing isn’t a reply, sweetie,” Belial says mildly, bringing Lucilius back with continued kisses to his mess of a chest. When he has Lucilius’ eyes on him, he shifts focus, rubbing his erection against Lucilius’ thighs while squeezing them in. He gives an obnoxious moan.

“You’re acting outside of the hypothetical situation,” he argues back. “An Astral wouldn’t be gyrating himself atop me.”

“Oh, but you know some of them want to.” Belial chuckles. “Who’s the one losing focus?”

Lucilius is going to destroy him after they are done. He turns his head to the side, which is, apparently, an invitation for Belial to press stinging kisses against his neck, surely leaving marks in his wake. Lucilius feels the cold upon him from every angle except for his legs, still wearing his thigh-highs.

He raises a brow at Belial. Belial shrugs and says, “I like them.”

\-- but he is losing focus. Lucilius pierces the ceiling with his gaze. A heat is welling up inside of him, try as he might to deny it. He’s becoming attrited to Belial’s presence between his legs, feeling the effects of arousal faster and faster each time. Perhaps, soon enough, Belial will remove his slacks and Lucilius will be struck by the unwavering desire to suck his cock.

He’s only half-considering the idea now. “Like and dislike,” he asserts coldly, “have nothing to do with the end result of furthering our knowledge as a species. No Astral can deny that. To want for that ignorance, as I said, will only make future research more difficult.” He does not add _on them_ , because it should be obvious, and it is. “Neutrinos can change states at any time and produce various effects. The lack that we observe radiating from the sun is due to the limits in our detectors. Scientific investigation will speak for me.”

“You’re forgetting the psychic element,” Belial chides, shaking his head. “I like your principles, but everybody else is playing the politics game. They’re never going to listen to you unless you get on your knees and play it slow. Soften them up. Get intimate with them.”

Lucilius stares at him a moment, then smiles. “Is that not your job, my adjutant?”

“One I all too happily fulfil,” Belial says, a razor of teeth to complement. “You knew you were right from the start, Cil. You weren’t _really_ interested in a debate. You just wanted someone to listen to you complain and then fuck the serotonin back into your brain.”

The smile is quick to vanish from his face and he’s turning glacial when Belial breaks up the tempo of their game. He slides Lucilius from the desk and into the darkness below. In other words, he gets Lucilius on his knees, rocks up to a standing position.

Lucilius is face-to-face with Belial’s cock. The white pupils of his eyes study it dully, then whisk up Belial’s half-clothed body to reach his face. Belial smiles down at him.

“I don’t have to tell you what to do, do I?”

Lucilius bares his teeth, a silent warning.

“Ah. If you say so.” With an aberrant shrug, Belial grabs a fistful of Lucilius’ hair and introduces him to his erection. He rubs the head several times against Lucilius’ lips, clicking his tongue in disappointment when they won’t open as requested. “Open wide, hon. It won’t bite.”

“I will,” promises Lucilius.

“You do that and you’ll be down one of your finest creations. You don’t like ruining your own handiwork. You make other people do it.” Belial prods again, hips pressing forward, and he sighs when Lucilius accepts the first few inches into his mouth. “Then again -- would you really let some Astral or degenerate primal bite my dick off? That doesn’t sound like you, either.”

If he has objection, it’s no longer communicable. He settles on his thighs, knees spread out on the floor, which is itself a haloed projection of the sun eclipsed by a supermassive black hole. Sweat runs from the line of his brow to the illusion below, beads distorting the eternal picture. He eases himself down, passing the threshold of his gag reflex and accepting Belial’s cock. It’s a heavy weight on his tongue. A noise erupts from him when Belial pulls back and pushes back in without his input.

He hears the laugh from the devil’s mouth, eyes scouting upward and finding the ceiling first. Clouds spin above the starscape. In the end, the galaxy between the heavens and the earth is limited by the scope of Lucilius’ knowledge. It has barriers. Belial guides his chin with a finger, pulling his eyes down, his mouth slightly more ajar while he sets his own rhythm.

“No teeth,” reminds Belial. Huffs of concentrated breathing, resounding with hollow annoyance, are his answer. Lucilius has his palms flattened against the floor, bracing himself for each thrust into his mouth. He shuts his eyes whenever his nose meets Belial’s hips and Belial has fully seated him on his tongue. He almost looks docile. And isn’t that the funniest thing?

The graze of teeth is his rebellious warning. Belial smiles bright and runs a hand through the long side of Lucilius’ bangs. Lucilius eases himself off Belial’s cock with a wet sound, lips red and parting wearily to speak.

“You,” he says, “do not give orders to me.”

Belial, with his smirk: “Don’t I?”

“The bed,” Lucilius replies, curt, raising himself to his feet. He hisses when Belial knocks him down onto the flat, thin surface of the mattress. He is closely followed by Belial himself, raking wishful fingers up and down Lucilius’ thighs. “Get things ready.”

“Don’t call yourself a ‘thing,’” coos Belial, the usual scenario following. He has oil in his trousers! He spreads Lucilius’ legs apart! He traces Lucilius’ entrance, already slightly red and wet in anticipation. He’s turned on, too. His fingers push further behind, stroking Lucilius’ second ring of muscle. “Which hole are we using today, Cil?”

Cil’s tossing his head to the side, fed up with Belial’s indecision. The saccharine reply of, “That’s not an answer,” only vexes him more greatly. He fixes Belial with a stare.

“What are you waiting for?”

“An order, my lord, my messiah, my saviour.”

His choice of new titles earns Belial a snort. It is not an angry snort. It’s the closest thing Lucilius has to laughter these days.

“You will push yourself inside of me,” Lucilius says in cool, easy instruction. His voice takes on the regular tone of the man who gives Belial orders as part of the Fallen Angel project. It is not dull, per se, but it is easily confident, carrying its own weight, knowing the tremendous power it holds. “You will fuck me to the extent that you are able, until you’ve rid me of these troublesome thoughts in my head. That’s what you’re good for, aren’t you, Belial?”

“Yes,” Belial agrees without a second thought, his throat dry.

Lucilius shifts up onto his elbows, the glint of the cuffs visible from behind his back. The galaxy has returned to its typical motion, obfuscating the clouds of heaven with the light of dancing black holes beginning to merge together. “You’re going to push past the ring of my doubts and obliterate it. You’re going to debase yourself and all of your knowledge just for the chance to fuck me. Aren’t you, Belial?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Yes _what_?”

“Yes, sir,” Belial answers.

“Then get to it,” Lucilius says, lying back against the pillows. Belial rolls him over onto his back, bringing him to a more prone position. “You’re wasting my time.” Yet, Belial can see his smile, illuminated by apparitions of stars.

Belial tosses the bottle of oil aside, gripping Lucilius by his chest, hands splayed over his beautiful ribs, his lovely scars. He slides himself in past Lucilius’ entrance, moaning at the tightness that impedes his progress every single step. He bottoms out a moment later. The two of them both are left panting, wanting, catching the other’s eye with a look that communicates everything.  
Feeling as if he’s been split in two -- pleasure and chaos -- Belial thrusts. He rocks Lucilius with the motion, but Lucilius growls at him, hands tightening into fists against the small of his back. “You can do better than that. You _will_ do better than that.”

“Yes.”

“Yes _what_.”

“Yes -- ahhhh. Yes sir!”

A regular, almost desperate rhythm is set between them. Belial pushes in. Lucilius pushes back, as much as the weight borne on his shoulders and the wide set of his knees will allow him. What a wonderful union in which to take part. Belial’s known about sex as a skill of negotiation for a long, long time. Sex as a matter of love, on the other hand… it’s still new to the both of them.

He shifts his hold on Lucilius’ hip to five fingers. With his other hand, he cups it against Lucilius’ ear, leaning in to whisper: “I love you.” The sweat and the vibrations sliding from their bodies introduces a tremulous effect to the words. Yet, though they rock, the sentiment remains solid.

Lucilius opens his eyes, shuts them, and he grows relaxed in Belial’s hands. His cock slides in even easier than before. “What?” he taunts breathlessly. “You can’t even say it back?”

He gets a growl in return. He gets, in return, a very staunch and pointed answer: “I love you too.”

Lucilius reveals his affection like the eye of a storm. It is there, inevitably. The chaos surrounding it almost drowns it out. But when you are present in that moment of calm, it is so obvious to you, you cannot even begin to wonder how you doubted it. It was always there. It will always be there, like the stars in the sky and the impossible distance between them and the Moon.

Belial will always love Lucilius. Lucilius will always love him.

“Let me cum,” Belial interrupts, rocking desperately into Lucilius. In, out, in out, in and in and further in, pressing as close as he can come, bearing Lucilius down with his weight. “Please, Lucilius.”

“Please what?”

“Please, sir,” he all but sobs.

Lucilius huffs coldly, but with warm in the middle. The electron-producing neutron changes its state, marrying a quark along the way. “Then cum. Be quick about it.”

Belial is quick, but he is _loud_. He declares another proclamation of love into Lucilius’ ear, pumping his hips forward and keeping the other man’s hips locked to him while he rides out his orgasm. Lucilius feels his body greedily absorbing the heat in his middle. A generous hand, introduced from the beast mounting him, rolls his clit and applies elegant effort while Belial remains inside.

Belial does not remove himself until Lucilius has tightened around him and also cum.

A mess of fluids decorate the outside of Lucilius’ thighs when Belial pulls out. He keeps himself on knees and elbows, waiting wordlessly while Belial fishs out the key. The cuffs fall from his wrists to the bedding moments after. Belial rubs his wrists for him, kissing the flesh decorated with angry red. They fall into the disused sheets, the room heavy with the scent of sweat, desire, and the union of something bigger than themselves.

Belial throws an arm meant for cuddling over Lucilius’ middle. Lucilius bats him away. When Belial starts to look wounded, half in joke, Lucilius rolls on top of him, placing a sheet as a barrier between their bodies.

“You smell terrible,” he says blandly.

Belial, smiling: “So do you, my love.”

“Are you going to walk me to the baths?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Then we remain here.”

“Oookay.”

An arm encircles Lucilius, eventually. He permits it. Permitting, however, is not the simple act of letting something happen to you. When you are a man, and your existence transcends the normal boundaries of your kind, and you assert yourself to be the bringer of the end of god and creation --

\-- permitting a touch is more like reciprocating it. His own fingers place wearily on top of Belial’s neck, the back of the palm touched to his pulse point. He can hear the ricochet of steady ichor flowing to Belial’s core.

“I’m not dead yet.”

“Yet.”

Belial laughs.


End file.
